An Equation For Love
by TheNeme
Summary: Mika has a revelation brought on by the person she least expects it from.
1. Lust And Love

**Title:** An Equation For Love

**Blood Type: **Oh, how I wish it were Percoset.

**Fandom:** Gravitation

**Disclaimer:** I think it should be fairly obvious that I don't own Gravitation as I have minimal artistic skills.

**Warnings:** Some pelvic thrusting. That's about it.

**Author's Notes: **An explanation: Hawk Clowd and I were watching VH1. The deal was that I had to use certain lyrics from KISS' "Put the X in Sex" in a fic for her, and she would reciprocate. As you can see, it turned into something more, and slightly different from what I thought it was going to be.

"Lust?" Tatsuha scoffed at the very notion. How utterly _insane_. "Sakuma Ryuichi-sama is love. And love is likea muscle and it makes me want to flex," he stated, thrusting his pelvis forward in a short, smooth motion.

Mika blanched visibly. "Ryuichi is thirty-one years old –"

"And has ass for _days_," Tatsuha finished for her.

That was enough. Mika narrowed her eyes at her youngest brother. This was all too reminiscent of Eiri's relationship with Shuichi. A relationship that upset her husband greatly, which in turn considerably upset _her_ life when Tohma was forced to intercede on behalf of his employees. "When did you become so _common_," she snapped, grinding out her cigarette and not really wanting an answer.

"My love for Sakuma Ryuichi-sama is not common," Tatsuha defended emphatically. "He's perfect! The best vocalist in all of Japan! The world!"

"You realize you sound like some kind of creepy stalker, don't you," Mika stated dryly as she examined the bright red color adorning her nails, running an appraising thumb over the polish.

"I'm not _stalking_ him!"

"Oh? I've yet to hear you say what it is about Ryuichi that you love. Sure, you can love someone for their accomplishments, but it's not _real_. What would happen to your love if he fell from the charts?" She was greeted with a stunned silence, a mixture of horror and disbelief settling into her younger brother's face. "You might want to concentrate on how he makes you feel when you ignore his career and look at the person underneath the glamour," she said, lighting another cigarette. "In other words, stop thinking with your _dick_." Mika inhaled sharply, enjoying the sensation of the smoke curling through her lungs.

Suddenly, she realized, this had become a parallel to her relationship with her Tohma. She absently flicked ashes from her cigarette onto the floor earning her a glare from the waitress, which she ignored. "So, tell me: what is it about him that makes you love him," she murmured.

Tohma had been a marriage of convenience: an easy way to avoid being a temple wife for the rest of her life. The opportunity had risen and she had seized it with both hands. Tohma had known this, despite her best efforts to hide it from him. And still he had been kind to her, gifting her with cars, clothes and jewelry. They were married before she realized that she didn't feel empty because he was trying to buy her affection – it was that lonely look in his eyes whenever he did. That haunted quality that spoke volumes of his desire to please her.

"I'm not thinking with my dick! I just...Sakuma-sama...his music..."

She had fallen in love with Tohma slowly and now at the galas they attended together, she no longer maintained a respectable distance when his arm snaked around her waist. She would smile confidently at the people that pressed in on them, their desire to impress the President of N-G Studios almost palpable. This man, who she had married for convenience was now something much, much more. She didn't care if he lost N-G tomorrow. Together, they could overcome any obstacle.

"Oi, aneki! You aren't even _listening_!"

That much was true. Nor did she particularly _care_ about her brother and his lust object at that moment. Of course, since she had been the one to bring the subject up, the least she could do is see it through to its end. Hypocrisy was _not_ a color that suited her.

"Continue," she murmured with an open gesture.

"It's his voice more than anything, I think. Sakuma-sama sings with his _soul_, and it shows." Tatsuha eyed his sister thoughtfully, taking in her blank expression. "Anyone who can sing with that much passion and emotion is a person worth knowing," he finished authoritatively.

Mika smiled thoughtfully. Perhaps there was something more to her brother's inane desire to meet Sakuma Ryuichi than she first thought. Maybe...maybe this – well, Tatsuha and Ryuichi – would actually work after all. It wouldn't be _so_ odd, would it? After all, never in a million years would she have thought that Tohma loved her – and even more surprising – that she loved him in return. But yet, he did. And she did.

"...On _top_ of which, as I've already mentioned, he has ass for _days_!"

"I'll see what I can arrange," she said rolling her eyes. She had more important things on her mind. She had to go home and tell her husband she loved him.


	2. Not A Good Day

**Title:** An Equation For Love, Part Two

**Blood Type: **Oh, how I wish it were Percoset.

**Fandom:** Gravitation

**Disclaimer:** I think it should be fairly obvious that I don't own Gravitation as I have minimal artistic skills.

**Warnings:** Some innuendo.

**Author's Notes: **None

It had not been a good day, Tohma thought as he fought the nigh-overwhelming urge to crack his head against his solid, mahogany desk. Instead, he took a deep breath and steepled his fingers, waiting for his next appointment. He strongly suspected that this was why people that met with him at the end of the day were always nervous; he must look like he was ready to off someone just to get away from the stupidity of most of the musicians that ended up working for him.

The Shindou kid was a perfect example of the kind of person with a lot of talent, but sometimes lacked the good sense to put it forward in a meaningful manner. He wasn't sure why he cared in the first place, it was no longer his responsibility, it was Sakano's and K-san's. Thank God.

After all, he had Eiri-san to look after, and Mika. Mika. Tohma couldn't remember when he had started referring to her that way – by her first name, no honorific – but it seemed right. He had, after all, been so taken with her that he had practically begged her father for her hand. Not that anyone knew; Seguchis didn't beg, and they certainly didn't prostrate themselves in front of drunken reprobates. It had taken a veritable blood-pact in order to actually secure her hand, including a promise to take Eiri-san to America to be 'cultured'. What a fiasco that had turned out to be; every time he thought about it, he remembered the blood that had covered the floor of the filthy apartment and how it had sloshed over his Prada shoes, licking at the hems of his nine hundred dollar suit.

And yet, Mika had not blamed him for the incident as he had blamed himself. She kindly took his suit and shoes and made sure that they were never seen again. She had been there to support him – hadn't gone running to her father with the news of how he had disappointed her. He had tried to show his gratitude, gifting her with lavishly embroidered gowns, jewelry that some would have considered too exorbitant to buy, and The Car -- the beautiful, red sports car that she drove nearly everywhere these days. Still, she had remained unreachable, never showing how she felt, despite the fact that he was obviously captivated by her.

But maybe it wasn't enough. Mika's appetite for all things was voracious; her style magazines and assorted planners for charity benefits and luncheons always littered the desk at their apartment. He asked so much of her, to always be poised, perfect and knowledgeable. Was what he gave in return really enough? Tohma was beginning to think that it wasn't. There had been that lovely cameo she had been eyeing downtown at the jeweler's. If he left now, he could pick it up before the shop closed.

"Tohma."

He looked up, startled to hear a voice that wasn't his secretary's. Mika. Looking as beautiful as always, black pearls clinging seductively to her throat, the Narciso Rodriguez dress she wore stopping just shy of her knee. He remembered both pieces as clearly as the day he had bought them for her. The necklace was from their second anniversary. The dress was more recent, an impulsive trip into Neiman Marcus while he had been in New York a month ago, just in time for her birthday.

"There is something that I would like to discuss with you," she continued, tossing her pocketbook onto a nearby chair and beginning to shrug out of her coat.

Tohma was already standing behind her, gathering it up as it slid down her arms. It was instinct, pure and simple – the kind of consideration a husband should show his wife. He liked the little moments like these that they shared – when she seemed grateful for his assistance – it made him feel needed, as if he were actually an important part of her life.

"The gifts. I want them to stop," she said finally, turning around to look at him hanging her leather swing coat up on the rack.

He nearly dropped it to the floor and he was sure she had noticed. He was shocked. Never did he ever expect to hear those words from her. She deserved to live in luxury, payment for the emotions that he felt for her but never seemed to show. How could he, after all that had happened? He pulled himself together, determined not to let her show how much her words had wounded him. "Of course," he started, returning to the relative safety of his leather chair. "Is there something you would like instead?"

Mika's eyes narrowed. If she was beautiful at any other time, she was breathtaking when she was angry, her eyes filled with fire and her posture demanding absolute compliance. "I want you to tell me how you feel."

"Feelings on what, Mika-san?" Tohma asked, his resignation apparent. Defense mechanism. He inwardly cursed himself. Mika was his wife, not some corporate brownnoser here to ask for a day off in the middle of the week!

"You can shove your attitude, Tohma," she snapped, taking a seat opposite him. "But we're going to sit here until you decide that your feelings for me are worth discussing." She crossed her legs, the black hem inching up over her perfect thighs.

The urge to bang his head into his desk returned with renewed vigor. Why did she want to talk about this _now_ of all times? Four years they had been married, and never once had she mentioned anything remotely similar to any of this. What had changed? He stole a glance at her from beneath platinum bangs – he was due for a trim. She sat there, calm and composed, examining her manicure, the dark red a delicious contrast against her porcelain skin.

Tohma hesitated. This should not be this difficult, he just – wasn't used to telling anyone else, he realized suddenly. Rule one of being a good businessman meant hiding your feelings on any given subject at any given time. The men and women in the corporate world were sharks; they would circle until you gave some indication of a weakness, they would devour you and then seize your company. But this…this was different. Surely he could tell Mika –

"Well? Have you made up your mind? It really shouldn't be that hard of a decision, Tohma."

She was right. It shouldn't be that hard, and she wasn't one of his competitors. She was his partner. The one who arranged his schedule so that he could spend his Saturday mornings in bed, who cooked his favorite meals and pressed his suits so that he would always look presentable. The woman who…made his life easier. And still he hesitated.

"I find your indecisiveness really –"

Tohma silenced her with a kiss, long and full of pent up emotion. He'd been meaning to kiss her like that for a long time. "I love you…Mika."


End file.
